


these scars are just a trace

by wreckofherheart



Series: Handwriting On The Wall [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/F, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4184439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wounded soldier and a young civilian meet in a hospital. They call it Fate. [Peggy/Angie]</p>
            </blockquote>





	these scars are just a trace

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slight AU, in which Peggy and Angie meet during the war, not afterwards. I hope you enjoy.

     From the top step, she can smell nicotine. The stench reminds her of her father’s home: small, stuffy and dark. She expects to see him round the corner, point at her, and yell out. Call her horrible names, raise his fist and whack her across the face. Daddy is never nice when he comes back home drunk. He’ll always hit her with a cigarette between his fingers, and his breath always smells so heavily of whiskey. Whenever Daddy is home, she has learnt to run away, to hide beneath the bed, or in the wardrobe, or beneath the floorboards.

     Daddy isn’t here, though. He didn’t come to the hospital with her. They found his corpse in a back alley; he had choked on his own vomit. The police officer was sympathetic when he informed her about his death, but she felt nothing. Is she supposed to feel something for a man who raised her and hated her? Is she supposed to weep about a man who stubbed out his cigarettes on her body, and yet still claimed to love her dearly? Call her his “little, baby girl” when the nights were rough. Hold her close and whisper into her ear that he doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t mean to be such a _bastard_ , but he can’t help himself.

     She goes down the stairs and stops when she sees a woman on the stairwell. She’s the one smoking a cigarette and at first, she mistakes her for an angel. She doesn’t think she’s witnessed such a beautiful person in her life. This woman is older than her, and clearly a soldier. It’s not the uniform which reveals her career: cargo combat trousers, black boots, and a clean, white shirt, unbuttoned slightly. She can see her bandaged shoulder. What gives this woman away is her posture, the way she stands. That confidence is unmistakably due to basic army training. It’s as if there’s a rod shoved up her spine. Despite her wounded body, she still manages to appear divine. She wears dark, red lipstick, deep mascara and has the most expressive eyes.

     The older woman is unnerved by her sudden appearance. She inhales deeply on her cigarette, allowing the drug to spread through her lungs. Smoke escapes her parted lips slowly, and she watches the other woman on the steps. Her look is unintelligible, and it’s almost frightening how somebody can appear so dignified. 

     Angie watches the soldier, hand on the bannister. 

     She turns away.

     ‘Don’t go.’ The woman has a deep, warm voice. She’s British. ‘It’ll be nice to have some company.’

     Angie doesn’t know how to feel about a stranger wanting her company, but she obeys the soldier’s command. She swivels around on her heel, and sits down on the step, hugging her knees. There’s something about this other woman which comforts her, almost. She might seem frightening in a way, but Angie knows she won’t hurt her. And it’s good to be around somebody who doesn’t mean her harm. Angie eyes the cigarette in the woman’s possession, and the soldier catches on. She retrieves a packet of cigarettes from her pocket.

     ‘Here.’

     ‘Thank you,’ Angie gratefully takes one, and blushes slightly when she realises she does not own a lighter. ‘Uh––’ The soldier is one step ahead of her though. When she pulls out a lighter, Angie props the cigarette between her lips and leans in so the soldier can light it. The nicotine feels heavenly, swirling in her chest, burning down her throat. She’s silent a moment longer, and the soldier stares idly at the wall, relaxed. ‘What happened to ya?’ 

     The solider looks at her.

     ‘I––I mean...’ Angie points at the soldier’s wounded shoulder. ‘Looks like ya had a nasty blow, is all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a soldier before. Not like this, anyway.’

     ‘I’ve returned from the frontline,’ she says, voice blunt. 

     ‘Oh.’ Angie raises her brows. ‘Does it hurt?’

     The soldier smiles a little. ‘No. Not anymore.’ She sighs. ‘I only need a day’s rest, then I’ll be right as rain.’

     ‘You’re not stayin’?’

     ‘Here? Goodness no. Two bullet wounds aren’t going to stop me.’

     ‘Two?’ Angie gasps. ‘Jesus Christ, you’re a tough gal.’

     Either the soldier is amused by Angie or flattered, because she’s smiling again. Angie cocks her head to the side. Her smile is lovely, it brightens her face, and her smile makes her appear less scary. But her smile is sad too. She’s hiding something. 

     ‘Peggy.’ 

     ‘Angie. It’s sure nice to meet you.’

     ‘And you.’ 

     Their conversation is interrupted when they hear somebody singing a few stairs down. He’s making his way up the staircase, and sings louder with each step he climbs. Angie only knows this man is a soldier due to his bandaged forehead. He leans on a crutch, and grins to himself, like a mad man. His singing comes to an abrupt stop when he sees the two women.

     Angie expects the worst, but what escapes his mouth surprises her.

     ‘Well, well, well––never thought I’d see the Lieutenant here! You were the one who fought beside good old Captain America, am I right?’

     Peggy doesn’t bat an eye at his name. Angie cannot believe she didn’t recognise her! Of course. This is Margaret Carter. One of the most highly esteemed soldiers in the American army. She was Captain Rogers’ partner. Right? Those two were a team, until the poor Captain went missing, supposedly dead. 

     Feeling foolish, Angie lowers her cigarette and looks away. 

     Unfortunately the soldier has turned his attention to the young lady, and smiles. ‘I’m in luck tonight! I get to see two pretty ladies before I’m sent home tomorrow. Haha. Can you believe it? I go home tomorrow while my brothers continue fighting. It’s a goddamn _joke_.’ He groans, and leans back against the wall. ‘Phew. I tell you, walking up a staircase is harder than you’d think when your head is blasted through.’

     Peggy takes a puff of her cigarette. ‘You look rough.’

     The other soldier smirks. ‘So do you, ma’am.’

     Angie watches the two of them. There’s a silent understanding between both man and woman. They’ve fought a war, and their war will rage on for the rest of their lives. It’s a bond only soldiers seem to share, Angie has noticed. This deep level of respect. She’s almost envious, but, for the most part, she is quiet and simply observes.

     The cigarette packet is thrown in the man’s direction, and he catches it.

     ‘Keep them,’ Peggy says. 

     He beams at her. ‘Thank you! Thank you. You haven’t got a lighter, have you?’ Peggy passes it over. The soldier hungrily pulls out a cigarette and lights it, before taking a long inhale. He sighs happily and falls back into the wall again. ‘Aw, yeah, that’s the stuff. I haven’t tasted one of these babies in weeks now. The doctor doesn’t like it when I smoke around him. Grumpy piece of shit.’ Angie is relatively surprised by the man’s cursing. The male soldier looks at her. ‘What d’you think, ma’am? She’s a pretty one, right?’

     Now aware she is in the spotlight, Angie avoids his and Peggy’s gaze. Her cheeks redden and she’s aware of Peggy watching her, but the other woman says nothing. 

     ‘I wouldn’t mind coming home to a pretty girl like you, darling.’ 

     What’s startling is how _empty_ his voice is. There is nothing sexual in his words–– _he’s just sad_. Because any man would love to come home to a pretty girl like Angie, who looks so delicate and pure. Any man would be lucky to come home to a pretty girl like Angie. That’s what Daddy always said. Pretty, pretty, sweet girl. Your husband will be one lucky man. 

     ‘Look at her,’ he exhales. He chuckles. ‘I think I’ve made her feel awkward. I don’t blame you, sweetheart. I’m an ugly soldier––no girl wants me now.’ He turns to Peggy. ‘No girls want us now that we’re back from the war. We’re just hideous forms of what we used to be. We’re not the men in the fancy photographs anymore. Just disgusting and mad.’ He chortles. ‘Aren’t I right, ma’am?’

     Angie catches Peggy’s gaze. Peggy’s eyes are dark, dangerous and warm. Angie feels a shudder as they watch one another. Peggy isn’t observing her because of her looks; she isn’t stealing this opportunity to take as much as she can from something––someone––who will never be hers. She’s looking at Angie because Angie is all she is aware of. The soldier’s words are muffled in her ears––Peggy doesn’t care about what he has to say.

     This soldier has been through Hell. She has faced Satan and his devils herself. Nothing scares her anymore. She has lived these past few years untouched, unloved––having to work alone in a man’s world of blood and guns. The bullet wounds are mere grazes compared to the injuries Peggy carries around with her every day and night. The injuries nobody recognises: the scars dug deep in her mind, haunting her. 

     And, although she has not fought this monstrous war herself, Angie, too, has own her nightmares. The wounds her father inflicted upon her are hidden beneath her gown. As a performer, Angie can mask her emotions well; she can cover up the fact that she lives in fear all day long. He may be dead, but there are more of him out there. Neither women are entirely certain about what love is, and, yet, opposite one another, they find a deep, intimate level of understanding no two people can discover easily. 

     They have known each other for less than fifteen minutes and, already, Angie feels as if she’s known this soldier her entire life.

     How pathetic. 

     ‘Do you believe in God, darling?’ The male soldier queries Angie.

     Angie is startled by his question. ‘I––I dunno.’

     ‘I think He exists. Of course He does.’ The man grins. ‘I think God plans everything. I think He planned me to get blown up and end up here, so I can meet you two lovely ladies.’ He leans over to Angie, placing his arms on the bannister. ‘Y’know what? Who’s to say He didn’t plan you two to meet either? Think about it. You, a nice sweet girl from nowhere, and Lieutenant Carter, who got shot––you wanna tell me this is not fate?’

     ‘And what would you say to all the innocent men and women who have died?’ Peggy asks. ‘Did God intend for them to die?’ There’s a hint of bitterness in her tone. This is a woman who once had faith, only for it to be crushed the moment she joined the army. There is no God in this dark, cruel world. 

     ‘It was their time,’ the man replies. ‘But, I guess it depends if you believe in a merciful God or not. Ours ain’t merciful, Lieutenant, but I like to think He’s fair.’

     Peggy snorts, and puffs on her cigarette. ‘Then we _clearly_ have different ideas on what is fair.’

     ‘God is all I’ve got now. He’s all you’ve got too.’

     Peggy shakes her head lightly. ‘I thought He was on my side once. A long time ago.’ She eyes him quietly for a second, and offers a smile. ‘Until I realised I was the one leading men through trenches, giving orders and sending them all to their deaths.’ Angie softens her expression. The male soldier chuckles. Peggy continues. ‘If there is a God, then it’ll take Him some time to get back in my good graces.’

     ‘Are you not a forgiving woman?’

     ‘Usually I am.’ She looks at Angie. ‘But, I don’t know what He has planned next for me.’

     ‘Have a little hope. You might be surprised.’ It is Angie who says this, catching both soldiers by surprise. Compared to them, she has a little voice, but her voice is happy, clinging onto whatever good is left in this world. It’s what both soldiers will remember of her: that joy. It leaves the man smiling. ‘He is always there when you need Him most.’ She dares herself to look Peggy in the eye, and challenge her. ‘I think He saved your life. I’m thankful those bullets hit you in the shoulder, not where it could’ve killed ya.’

     Peggy doesn’t respond. The cigarette in her possession is ignored, and she processes everything Angie has told her. Maybe it is true. Maybe this is all an act of fate; an act of God. Who knows? Peggy sure as Hell doesn’t. Really, right now, she doesn’t know _what_ to believe anymore. She has lost so many loved ones, watched so many men, women and children die––to believe in anything is close to impossible. 

     Is this her reward? God’s gift?

     To meet this woman and have her faith returned to her?

     The male soldier winces as he straightens. ‘I gotta get back. Doctor will start wondering where I’ve gone to, and he doesn’t like me anyway.’ He grabs his crutch, and peers at the two women over his shoulder. ‘Good night.’ Neither say a word, and Peggy watches him descend the stairs, humming on his way, until he’s out of sight. 

     She stubs out her cigarette. ‘I apologise. I hope he didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.’

     ‘Not at all, hon,’ Angie replies. She smiles. ‘Actually... he kinda made me feel like it was only you and me left in the world. On our own. I liked that feeling.’ She sighs, almost dreamily. Peggy is silent. ‘I guess you gotta get back to the war again, huh?’

     ‘The war is everywhere, but, yes, I have to.’

     ‘Oh, well. I would’ve liked to have got to know you a bit more.’

     Peggy hesitates. When was the last time someone wanted to _know_ her? Not since Steve, at least. How many times has she let these opportunities pass her? Here is a sweet, lovely lady who wants to _know_ her. And maybe it is fate, maybe it is all part of some big plan, but something in her changes. She might have endured horrifying moments during the war, but she can make some good out of it all. 

     She was sent to this hospital for a reason. She met Angie for a reason. 

     ‘Do you live near here?’

     ‘Kinda.’ Angie jumps to her feet when she realises what Peggy is asking. The excitement is endearing, and Peggy is touched that she cares this much. ‘I work at L&L Automat a few blocks from here.’

     Peggy nods. ‘I know that place. I’ll come and see you.’

     ‘You’re sweet.’

     ‘Nonsense. It’d be my pleasure.’

     Angie holds her gaze. She clutches onto the bannister, and feels a need to make Peggy stay, if not for a few more minutes. Peggy may promise to see her, but if she intends to return to the frontline, will she survive? Is Angie just filling herself up with false hope? Will Peggy even remember her when the war is over?

     She’s never really met a soldier before. 

     And she likes this one. A lot.

     She stubs out her cigarette.

     ‘I’ll miss ya, Peggy.’

     ‘You shouldn’t.’ 

     ‘Well, I will. Maybe then you’ll think ‘bout me when you go back out there.’

     Peggy laughs meekly. ‘I won’t forget you. I promise. I’ll come back and see you.’

     Here they are: a waitress and a soldier, and nothing is stopping them from dropping everything and running away. The idea, the fantasy is suddenly tempting; luxurious and just so _tempting_. But, perhaps, that is not a part of their great plan. Perhaps, now isn’t the time––perhaps now isn’t _their_ time. 

     Angie enjoys their silence, and watches Peggy softly. She has a few grazes across her beautiful face, and her exhaustion is evident, but, really, Peggy’s imperfections only make her appear that much more sweeter. 

     She smiles at her. A full, genuine smile and turns to walk back up the stairs. Peggy waits, hearing her footsteps fade, until she’s gone completely. The soldier doesn’t move; she waits another minute, just in case Angie may return; just in case something more needs to be said. When the minute passes, Peggy opens the door and leaves the stairwell.


End file.
